


swimming in the sound.

by katarama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Lifeguards, Summer, Swimming Pools, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson’s in his familiar perch on his lifeguard chair, which is barely high up enough to actually survey all of the lazy river.  It’s a dull day, for a Saturday, because it’s cool out.  It gives him the space to zone out a little bit, relying more on his hearing than his sense of sight.  His attention’s caught by the quick slap of flip-flops against the concrete, a curse, and then</p><p>“Hi.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	swimming in the sound.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ericaismeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ericaismeg/gifts).



The Beacon Hills public pool is enormous.  It serves the entire community, and with the number of rich people in Beacon Hills who die and donate their money, it’s unsurprising that it’s huge.  There’s water slides, a kiddie pool and sprinklers, and a full-size pool.  Jackson’s heard jokes that the only thing it’s missing is a hot tub, which is always followed by comment that that’s in the indoor pool in the rec center, not at the public pool.  

There is, however, a small lazy river.  Jackson knows it well, because he sits watch over it for eight hours per day, every weekend.  He’s been looking after the lazy river since he was legally old enough for the pool to hire him, back when he was in high school, and he’s never complained about his station (to his bosses, at least), so they’ve never moved him.  

It’s mostly a pretty boring job; he sits there and slathers on sunscreen to try to keep his skin at ‘healthy glow’ and not ‘peeling red’.  He gets to show off how off how incredible he looks in swimming trunks and aviators, and every once in a while someone cute pretends to need mouth to mouth.  He occasionally has to yell at kids for jumping out of their inner tubes and swinging them at each other, or for splashing too aggressively when older people are around, but he mostly sits there, discreetly playing on his phone, and watches.  

Objectively, his favorite part of his job should be the fact that he’s getting paid for it, but he doesn’t really need the money, anyway.  He gets more joy out of the one rule he doesn’t _technically_  have to enforce, but does anyway, liberally.

Only when Scott and Stiles are around, that is.

“No running by the pool, dumbass,” Jackson says to Stiles, after quickly checking to make sure there were no kids around to report him for his language.  

“If you run by the pool, I get to kick you out,” he gleefully announces to Scott and Stiles a week later, even though it’s actually a bit of a bluff.  “Don’t think that your speed doesn’t mean I can’t see you, Scott.”

“Actually, you should keep running by the pool,” Jackson says conversationally, when Stiles runs and jumps to where Scott’s comfortably floating in his inner tube.  Scott catches him with a loud ‘oof’, and Allison laughs and splashes them both.  “Do it,” Jackson says.  “Both of you, keep running by the pool.  Werewolves drown, too, you know.  Take care of two pains in the ass with one stone.”

“That’s a lot of ass pain, you should get that checked out,” Stiles says lazily from Scott’s lap.  

“Unless he likes it that way,” Allison comments, her eyes gleaming bright.  She looks stunning in her red bikini, her hair short, only the very tips straightened by pool water.  Jackson shamelessly stares, his eyes following the long line of her legs back to where her thighs press against the yellow inner tube and her ass dips into the water.

“I hope you all the ass pain in the world, then, dude,” Scott says, his hand dipping under Stiles’ swimming shirt.  

“No fucking in the pool,” Jackson says flatly.

“That’s what the locker rooms are for, right?” Allison says, flashing a white smile at him.  Jackson can’t help but disagree with the image, and Stiles cracks up laughing and splashes him with water.

“Just float on,” Jackson says gruffly.  “And no running, any of you.”

Jackson waits and waits for the day that Scott or Stiles finally trips, so he can feel vindicated, because there’s little more satisfying than being able to say ‘I told you so’.  When the fall finally comes, though, it’s not from either of them.

Jackson’s in his familiar perch on his lifeguard chair, which is barely high up enough to actually survey all of the lazy river.  It’s a dull day, for a Saturday, because it’s cool out.  It gives him the space to zone out a little bit, relying more on his hearing than his sense of sight.  His attention’s caught by the quick slap of flip-flops against the concrete, a curse, and then

“Hi.”

There’s a warm body pressed against him, thin, red fabric covering the breasts practically smoothed flat against his thighs.  Allison’s familiar dark hair and long, pale neck are right there, on his lap and on display for him to touch, if he dared.

He doesn’t, even though the two of them got to the point of comfortably touching back in high school.  Instead, he keeps his hands to himself as she catches her breath and moves herself back to a standing position, her cheeks flushed red.

“My flip-flop snapped,” she says as she adjusts her top, her hands lingering on the straps of her bikini.

“Running in flip-flops is pretty much impossible,” Jackson reassures her.  “I mean, I told you so, but flip-flops…”

  
“Hard for running,” Allison agrees.  “Thanks for the catch, though.”

“I can hardly complain,” Jackson says, and Allison runs her fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.  “I mean, because I could _help_ , of course.”

Allison snorts.  “And because you got to cop a feel?”

“My thighs didn’t do any copping,” Jackson says.  “There’s no hands on my thighs to do any copping feels.”

Allison glances at Jackson’s lap, to the swimming trunks that fit Jackson perfectly and to his defined, muscled legs.  “Yeah, I’m not seeing any hands there,” Allison agrees.  “I wouldn’t mind so much, though, if your regular hands did cop a feel.”

“Too many old men in the locker room,” Jackson says, making her laugh.  “But I’ll pick you up after my shift?”

“Dinner, too?” Allison teases.  “I’m sold.”

“Perfect,” Jackson grins, sliding his sunglasses back from his head so his eyes are covered.  “I’ll see you at eight.  Dress nice.”

Allison wanders off, back to where Lydia’s sprawled out on the poolside chair, and Jackson pulls out his phone.  If he’s going to go for this, he’s going to let himself show off a little bit, and give Allison a good time.

It’s time to make a reservation.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
